Prologue - Book 1
by SoulEnigma
Summary: There's a lot of stuff in John's life he flees from and a lot he hasn't been facing. Can Carson, in his own subtle and kind way, open John up? Can the Scott get John to face that which he has been running from since he was thrown into this unwanted life? And in the end can Carson have what he knew he never would get; a soul mate. Read and Find out (then Review ;-D)
1. Prologue Poem

**Jigsaw Memory**

**Feigning Happy, You & Me**

**Don't let me know**

**that**

**Three Months Later**

**It'll all be**

**Numb Silence**

**please**

**Stay away from me**


	2. Chapter 1 - Jigsaw Memory

**Jigsaw Memory **

John drove along the dusty highway, the heat barring down caused everything to shiver in those liquid waves he had always liked.

In Wisconsin just south of Canada it was a rare phenomenon to see such a thing, down here though just north of Texas, John was finding that it was a constant.

John Sheppard had been South before during the 30's when he'd been told to take a hike and decided to do just that. He'd gone entirely Hobo, riding open box cars from one end of the country to the other. It was an interesting experience and he'd eventually gotten himself a job, working first manual labor, then a typing position for a reporter out east for a while. It was his love of writing that had gotten him the position as a reporters assistant. He was grateful for his fathers far seeing demand that his sons all learn how to write and do math well. It was John's love of reading encyclopedia's and automatic understanding of diagramming sentences that had gotten him the position.

He had been sitting there, in California at the end of a cross country hike like no other when a guy with a camera came up to him and a few of the other vagabonds. Since no one was hiring there was nothin' to do, which for that time was usual. Oddly this Alfred or Al as he later called himself took interest in this. By this time it was right around 1935 or so, John and the rest of the hobo's were sitting at the bottom of a pile of rotting fruit, not allowed to take any. Suddenly John's world went sharp and white, the guy with the camera had snapped a few shots blowing John's eyes out with the flash. John winced and was about to ask them to stop when he heard a guy talking to him. He looked up to find a young man no older then say 25 staring down at him, he said he was a reporter and apologized for his colleagues rudeness. The two guys started asking questions which John answered and they struck up a conversation. As an apology Al the photographer and Bill the reporter boiled up a pot of meat and potatoes on their own dime and shared it with everyone around. John found out that they were on assignment, recording the dust bowl and the plight of the people who'd traveled to California. The reporter had a soft spot for everyone he was encountering and simply because of that offered John a job that very night. Next thing John knew he was on a plane to New York where he would spend the next several decades of his life.

It was that lucky break that had given John Sheppard the means to eventually buy the car he was driving, a car he'd bought the 60's, a Cherry Red 190 SL Mercedes convertible. Before he knew it he was what the Hobo's had called a barnacle, staying at one job for a year or longer. He'd never entirely sworn allegiance to the Hobo lifestyle, nor wanted to be one, things had just happened that way for a time. So it made sense to take jobs that other people would have wanted. Despite his breaking code he lived in a dump for the whole of 30 years. Maybe is was guilt, maybe it was the Hobo Ethics he'd had drilled into him for far to many formative years. Whatever it was he was unable to bring himself to shell out for anything better then the, one step up from the gutter flat he rented. Instead of allowing himself the luxury of heating or even electricity John saved every damn penny. In the last five years right around the 25 year mark he'd gotten a bit loopy. Tied down for too long and not able to admit far to many things caused John to one day wander on by a guys drive way and on a whim offer the whole of his 30 years worth of savings to buy the damn Mercedes. The owner at first wouldn't part with it, but as John kept getting higher and higher the owner softened. It was a bit like robbing, and for whatever reason it felt good to win the odd somewhat of a fight between them. John had driven it away and had been unable to part with the car ever since.

By the time John decided to retire from the reporting and desk jobs he'd amassed enough money to either buy a house and retire nicely, or go cross country.

In the end he traveled out of the US.

In one year he went all the way to the tip of North America and then "jumped the pond" as they say and hung out in England for a while. He was hoping for some good English tobacco but was never able to find any. When he came back home he checked out Hawaii for a bit then ended up settling back in Wisconsin.

By this time it was 1966 and he settled into another secure position. Once again he spent another good 20 years hanging out at another job, unfortunately it soon turned uptight, pressured and so rage inducing that he had to either quit or he'd die, for sure.

By now it was 1986 and well, to say things were looking down would be an understatement. Most people didn't seem to notice. Maybe it was because they hadn't been around, maybe it was because they were so darn young and therefore ignorant. Maybe it was because they were willfully in denial but whatever it was the very atmosphere of the U.S. had changed. Everywhere John looked people and things either ignored it or just didn't notice and the few that did had no idea what to do about it. People were suddenly suspicious and not of anyone who was truly responsible for anything but of each other. Everyone was also starting to point fingers of blame and not at those in power, but to the guy sitting right next to them, the powerless ones just like them.

Along with this things started to tighten down, you couldn't just go anywhere and do whatever you liked any more. You were asked where you were going, what you were doing, and how long you'd be sticking around no matter where you went. People played it off as friendliness and neighborly concern but it was still unnerving.

(It reminded John of the extremely short amount of time he'd made the mistake of initially driving south. He'd gone down past the Mason Dixie Line in hopes of thawing out for a while. He was immediately told to, "Git back home ya' damn yank." )

Now though the whole nation was going south.

Before you didn't need a permit for a gun, you didn't need more then your word to get a new license, you didn't need any kind of paper work much less a pass port just to go to Canada for a day. And for the most part you didn't have to prove you were old enough to drink just to buy liquor, or hell a pack of smokes. And what was worse all the darn cigarettes were filtered or "Low Tar" hell they were even making them "light" now, it was down right ridiculous! Before if you ever got snockered and went driving it was no big deal, the cops wouldn't arrest you, put a permanent mark on your record. There was no three strikes anything, much less any worries. People trusted strangers and strangers like now were trustworthy.

Now though, now they were making it an offence just to drive over to the corner store with a few under your belt and making out every unknown person as an automatic criminal. Nothing was free any longer. It used to be that when you saw someone in trouble you helped them out, now if anyone did stop by and help they'd have their hand out expecting some kind of pay instantly afterwards.

It was this and many other things that finally made John decide to move on. He hopped around, going vagabond again but this time living out of his car. It was different then when he'd been riding the rails, without a single permanent item to keep him company. The loneliness had been intense then but at least he wasn't burdened. Now though he had a car and a few other items that he had to constantly care for and keep in good condition. It was a burden and he nearly dumped the car but in the end he never could let go of it, why he had no idea.

It was right around Christmas of 1987 or so when it happened, he'd taken a trip to England again disgusted with the way things had been going in the U.S. To John's ignorance certain things had been lifted in Great Britain and become common place.

The first time John had gone to England he'd never visited Scotland or Ireland nor the surrounding islands. This time he decided to start in Ireland being partially Irish himself. He did fairly well, a bit scary in a few places but he made sure to keep to the tourist areas and didn't stay long, only a day and a half or so. Then he went across straight into Scotland which turned out to be a terrible mistake. He had been traveling around checking out what turned out to be the country side when he'd become lost as all get out. Finally in an attempt to get some kind of bearing he worked his way to a partially paved road and kept walking till he hit a somewhat public looking establishment. He hoped he was correct since he was in an area that was clearly back woods, a public eatery was just as soon someone's house as it was an actual restaurant. John walked up tried knocking and when he didn't get an answer shoved the door a little, it gave and to his relief it was a cozy tight knit bar. Now Yankees a.k.a. Americans were not welcomed in certain places and sadly this pub seemed to be one of them. John had walked in totally ignorant of what was going on when a guy from across the way caught his eye. The broad heavy set man waved at him in greeting as if he knew John. John waved back being polite and then proceeded to try and make his way up to the bar. He was buffeted and the rather thick crowd wasn't allowing him near the back where the drinks were served. Giving up he went in search of a booth, or at least a stool. Everywhere he turned someone would either scoot into the seat he was about to take or block him entirely. John was glancing around when the burly blonde guy started to make his way over to him. Right about that time John realized there wasn't even standing room. A leg stuck out and John tripped bumping into another person, the guy who'd waved came up and blocked the angry patron. The man introduced himself as Carson and let John know that if he was going to drink Carson would, out of the spirit International Neighborly-ness be buyin', "but it might be best to move on after one mug". The guy was dressed in an up to date sport jacket and had his hair spiked in a way that was popular back in the states now. Carson signalled ordering them both drinks then led John over to a booth that magically opened up.

John thanked him glad to be able to sit for a while and get in out of the constant rain. It was foggy and cold out the wet soaking right through to John's bones. He'd done his best to hold off the shivering that kept threatening to over take him but he was starting to lose. When the beer came John thanked the manager who not very politely chucked the mug down in front of him. Carson said something to the man and two guys at the bar, who were clearly about to get up and start something, settled back down.

Carson seemed to easily disarm the manager and the rest of the people with in ear shot. In a few minutes he and the large aproned manager were laughing. The two guys at the bar smirked silently then turned away, satisfied it seemed.

John was more then grateful but started to gulp his beer none the less. When the manager finally walked away the burly Carson turned to him, "I didn't get te' properly introduce me'self, I'm Carson Beckett from a small town in the Isle of Skye. I'm visiting from Wales for Holiday, School an' all." he stuck out his hand.

John put his mug down and shook it,"nice ta' meetchyeah." He smiled his best, I'm damn harmless, smile and burped into his fist. "Sorry!" He laughed it off, but Beckett frowned, "Why ye' got ye' coat on?"

"Ahh."

"Ye' can take ye'r coat off, get warmed up for a minute, no hurry." Carson nodded at him.

John squirmed, to take it off was to make himself vulnerable and show he was staying, to leave it on was rude and might insult. What the hell, "well I might need to go here," he glanced around then pointedly looked at his watch.

"Don't worry about it." Carson leaned back and put his arm up on the back of the booth, "ye' can dry off by the fire at least, no harm in tha' now." He gave John an odd assessing look, one far kinder then the look John thought he was going to get.

It was then that John should have known something was wrong.

Very very wrong.

One drink turned into three more and an invitation to meet Carson again. This time though they'd be meeting up in another pub somewhere far safer and from what Carson said better then this place.

By the time John got back to where he was staying he had apparently found a travelling companion. Carson had offered to show him around Whales and then take him "deep into Scotland, places they usually keep the tourists and Americans out of."

"So all the bombings and whatnot, the political unrest," John looked at Carson, "is it as bad as America is making it out to be?"

"Well," Carson leaned back gripping his mug tight, "I wouldn't worry about tha' if I were you. Don't worry though, if ye' stick with me I can keep ye' safe." The man nodded giving him a broad smile.

Over the course of about a month Carson was the consummate tour guide; polite, engaging, friendly. The guy knew how to hold a conversation and how to keep ones attention. He taught John all about Scottish History, Gaelic and the background on the language even teaching him how to speak a few phrases. He showed John all the ins and outs of first Scotland then Whales, John had never had such a good time in his life.

It was about half way through the second month that things took an subtle yet odd turn. John had been a bit blurry eyed with booze, his head laying on the table in the pub they were in when a grand idea hit him, "we should start drinking our way across Ireland!" They had been done with Scotland and Whales for a good week now and had been holed up in a Hostel, bored out of their minds.

Carson leaned back in deep seriousness, squinted one eye at him and pronounced, "Ye'd never make it ye' lightweight," then downed the rest of his mug.

"I would too!" and John proceeded to down the rest of his beer.

John and Carson put their well thought out plan into action. Granted the whole time was spent in perpetual marination but John was sure of one thing, the guy kept getting closer and closer to him, almost cozy.

At first it was constantly bumping into him, a shoulder, the back of a hand, a kick of the foot under the table even; this one really unnerved John. But before long the man was literally leaning on him, or walking so close that their shoulders all the way down to the wrist rubbed against each other.

Granted these last few were only when they left one pub to either get sucked or stumble half

blottoed into another one merely a few feet down. Most nights they were either waking up on bar room floors, or half trying to lean slash carry each other to their place of residence for that night. It was Because of this John didn't think much of the odd familiarity of Carson, how close he would get at awkward or inopportune moments.

By the time John managed to make it to the end of the month he'd had enough of the drunken blurr. Drinking and partying was fine but he wanted to feel good again, and as of late his nose for whatever reason was perpetually bleeding, along with his mouth. Decades later he'd find out the reason for this, but right then, in February of 1988 he figured it was cause of too much drink. He wasn't inclined to sober up one bit till Carson had taken a sip of his glass and spit it out sayin' it tasted terrible. The guy glared at him as if John had tainted the booze on purpose. John decided it was time to quit drinking for a bit and try to get himself some actual nourishment.

It took a good month to sober up and by the end of March John had enough of Carson constantly trying to drag him back into the not so dry lifestyle.

It was after this that John really noticed it, the light taps, slight bumps, feather soft brushes.

To John's surprise after he told Carson he was leaving since the guy couldn't stay sober the man went cold turkey.

It was after the inevitable month of perpetual hangover and shakes had passed that John asked if Carson was truly in college and they got to talking.

He found out that Carson was from a poor family with far to many kids, his parents having been Catholic. His Dad was a bit more then abusive and Carson had been the one, for whatever reason, automatically designated to try and patch people up after his Dad got mad.

Carson gave John that piercing smile, it was like the guy saw straight through him and smirked at what he and only he could see.

"You know I gotta admit," Carson clutched his coffee mug tight, "before I met ye' I had decided te' quit."

John chocked on his coffee and looked up, "What?"

Carson's look intensified and John scooted back smashing himself into the booth. They were in a local pub having a nibble after their morning constitutional.

"I had decided te' not go back but you like the idea of me being medically informed heh'?"

John cocked his head to the side and tilted his chin down, "excuse me?"

Carson scooted back himself, thankfully withdrawing a bit, "if I learn medicine then I'll know many a thing about the human body won't I?" the guy gave John what was clearly a partial wink.

John shook his head, lost.

"I was about to quit Medical School but comin' upon you I've decided to go back. I didn't have a reason to continue, but since you're here now I think I'll return." Carson clutched his mug with a big meaty hand, "You make me want to be a better person John. Thank you for tha'" Carson nodded at him, his eyes filling with some kind of soft emotion.

John stilled then studied the guy, he couldn't figure out the strange expression on Carson's face. Was he, could he, nah! John looked away and picked up his mug again, "I need te' step out for some air." By now he had gotten the accent and was spitting it back like a native born local, or he was as far as _his_ ear could hear.

John wandered outside and lit up glad for the crisp bite to the fog around him. He stood thinking for a bit, reviewing what had been going on. If he didn't know better he'd swear Carson was some kind of a gay, heck a predator if he really thought on it. John looked up at the sky and breathed out letting it all go. He was just reading things wrong, he was in a foreign land surrounded by customs that didn't make sense at first.

It was all miss-communication that's all.

After a few minutes Carson came out and stood beside him, not saying a word. When the silence stretched far to long the guy finally spoke up, "Ye' okay mate?"

John narrowed his eyes wishing he could see the stars, his life at the moment was starting to seem as shrouded as the landscape. "Yeah," the Southern twang he'd learned from his father surprised him. He only slipped back into that when he was upset at his core. John frowned and scratched his head.

"So ye' want another round?"

"Nah, nah, thank ya' though." John nodded at his companion.

Carson swayed side to side and rubbed his hands, "ahh, I didn't mean te' set ye' off there. I just thought that you'd take it as a compliment. In Glasgow here we don' mind saying such things." he rubbed his hands on his jeans then stuffed them into his sweater pockets. The guy looked like a twenty year old professor with the odd clothing choices he always wore; a thick collared cardigan under his outer coat.

"What I really meant was that you've given me a purpose in life. Before ye' came along I was a bit lost … despondent." Carson looked up at the murky sky and inhaled long and tense. "I didn't have a reason to keep goin'." he let the breath go deflating a bit. "But with all you've taught me these last few months I realized, maybe it is worth it to go back."

"Mm." John nodded at this, thinking. He wondered if it was the best thing to ask but after a bit he couldn't figure out a way to put it more gently.

"So," John crossed his arms and scuffed the ground noticing his shoe was worn through at the toe. "How come … with the way you're Dad was; and your Mom … how come you got so depressed after they died?"

Carson stilled, then drew into himself, "well, I donno. I just" he went silent for a bit then crossed his arms. "I donno," he shrugged, "I just loved 'em anyway."

"Mm." John nodded in a matter of fact way, "just couldn't help it."

"Aye," Carson sighed long and thin as if he were letting out a secret.

They stood for a bit looking out at the fog. John couldn't recall all the drunken conversations they'd had in the past three months or so, but he did recall snippets. John wondered if he had dreamed up the one where Carson had said he was going to do himself in, having no money and no prospects. He told John that the day he'd wandered into the pub Carson had promised himself to do one good deed to have a shot at getting into heaven. It was right after that John had walked into the bar as if on Que. Carson saw it as a sign from God and had made his way over, putting his own life on the line. It would be far to late when things finally clicked into place in John's mind. He'd look back over everything and realize that Carson had told everyone in Gaelic that John was his cousin and he hadn't known that he was coming for a visit. His Mum was close to the guy and there was no harm in letting a poor idiot drink for a minute. Then slick and as easy as ever Carson turned and told John in English that he was a good tour guide and would be glad to take him around.

Carson nudged John bringing him back into the present. He gave him that odd face which always worked to squeeze a smile out of him. John bowed his head and shivered blaming the damp for it. They went back inside and Carson let John know that the last thing he wanted was to be a doctor.

"So why in the world are you going back to medical school?"

"Because there's no other way to make a good living and move out." It was at this point that Carson ordered them both a strong shot of whiskey. At first he refused then caved, it was clear Carson wanted to get something off his chest. As they drank Carson told him how he'd been different from the others as a kid and hated for it. His whole family had constantly harassed him, letting him know how worthless and pansy ass he was. Despite his like of wrestling and other manly sports he was always the kind one, the one taking his sisters dolls and dressing them up in bandages then seeing if he could hide it all under the clothing.

"I was trying to practise for when Dad hurt us. I figured if I could fix a doll I could fix a broken leg!" For whatever reason Carson got a kick out of this, John did too, Carson's laughter infectious.

He saw becoming a doctor as the only way to get out of the country slums he'd been raised in. In the end John realized that Carson was clearly vying for respect and validation and saw the title of a Doctor as his ticket to both.

John took pity on him and convinced Carson to stick by his side.

"If we pool our finances you can go to school and I can stay here a while." John smiled broadly at the blonde haired bloke. He noticed his skin was smooth, soft even and kind of glowed in the lamplight.

"You can have a good life and I can get my green card or whatever." John frowned at his empty stein.

Carson called for another round and John thanked him. By this time he was more then a few sheets to the wind. One conversation led to another and before John knew it he was temporarily moving into the guys flat. They finished the night off or must have for the next morning they were both waking up on a bar room floor again.


	3. Chapter 2 - Happy, You&Me

**Happy,**

**You & Me **

June of 1990

John was sitting on the sofa one day when it hit him, he was possibly in love with this man. He physically jumped at the thought, the very idea disgusted him. He wasn't gay, never had been! Granted there had been unnatural longings in his youth, and he was especially bad off in his, well what had been his twenties …

Coming upon this realization John wondered if he was more or less twenty any longer. He hadn't been feeling the same as he'd been during the first few decades, but ever since he'd been kicked out of his family he'd been in survival mode. Because of this he had not had the luxury of being amorous for anyone, or even type, so of course he wasn't going to be looking. When you're constantly fighting to survive you're going to be in a constant state of feeling ill. John thought back and realized the tension and never ending unease he'd always had, seemed to wear off after he'd bought that darn Mercedes. It as around that time his whole body and even his mind ever so slightly relaxed a bit. Yet his sex drive never returned.

John looked at the T.V. and cocked his head to the side.

It made sense really he was getting older and old people didn't really have the "drive of youth" as he'd heard it called. But why didn't he become interested after he bought his car, he should have. He'd even had a good 20 years there where he very much should have been interested.

He never had been.

John mulled this over, terribly his mind dredged up how he'd been suddenly taken by his boss. He'd been sitting across from the man typing away, their desks perpetually pushed together, when he noticed how smooth and soft his skin was. For half an instant he realized how young and just hot the man was. He'd pushed it away at the time. After this his mind reeled popping up one incident after another of people he'd been ever so slightly turned on for. None of them were as strong as that one incident and women were peppered in there, but the majority of his interests were men.

John shoved it all away.

He shook his head and scooted forward leaning his elbows on his knees. He needed to focus on something else, something that mattered, not this queer shit.

So how old was he now, and really was there an age for his type of person? Did he count his age by the years or how old his body was?

John stared at the T.V. for a minute then got up, this needed tea.

One thought lead to another and by the time Carson got home the poor young student took one look at him and decided John needed a good strong drink.

In the end John decided the best thing was to just ignore it all. The answers would pop up as he lived his life and if they didn't then so be it. Thinking it over would only make things awkward so there was no use in examining it too closely.

John kept on living as he had been, trying to get his green card and make enough money under the table or on the side to pay his end of the rent. Carson let him know there was no need, he had enough money for the both of them and even if his money were to run out his parents money wouldn't.

"What!?" John chocked on his tea, "you said-"

"Yeah well." Carson bit his lips tight stirring his own cup, "turns out they had quite a bit saked away. They were too greedy to waste it on us. Any of us."

"You're kidding."

"Nope!" Carson shot him a bitter grin then pressed the heel of his hand on the counter top, he turned away. "When they died we sold the house and divided it up eight ways. It didn't amount to much, but with the slight bit they had saved up for their retirement and cruises which they never got … " Carson went still.

He stood there; distant, staring out the small kitchen window.

"Is it wrong … to want for them, wish they had that. Te' retire and enjoy, maybe be happy like they never were?"

John shifted, "I … My own parents they ..." John looked down into the delicate china in his hands, "I ahh," he gulped shocked he was about to say this, shocked he could say this at all. Through all these years he'd never looked back, never allowed himself to examine it, much less speak of it. "I was kidnapped. … gone for ten years. … When I came back I was changed, different. … Like my brother from war. … Or that's what my Ma' said."

John paused for a long beat, after a bit he inhaled then let the breath out, the tension rising despite it. "I knew I was different, changed. I wasn't able to live in there-the house-with them any more." John went numb, "I had … changed."

He could feel Carson watching him, or figured he was; John really hoped he was wrong.

He inhaled long and hard and let it out in a rush.

"When they kicked me out not 6 years later-my Dad kicked me out. They hated me. I was fighting with my Mom, my Dad. My Dad ... hated me. ..."

For a while there he'd had to face the truth, that he'd been evicted by his own family and was homeless. That he wasn't going to be able to crawl back to them, even if he was dying.

John's world began to blur all white and cold.

He'd never told anyone this before, never even faced it, looked at it.

Never re-lived it, which was what he was doing now.

The next thing he knew something was shoved into his hand.

"Here. Drink."

When he started blubbering he was scooped up, thankfully he didn't go further, even that much was too much.

In the end John let Carson know that really, he wanted his own family to be well off and wished that he could have checked up on them. He never got to see his parents again, never got to know what happened to them. He figured they never moved off the farm since there was nothing to be seen nor heard of them from that point on. His siblings, he tried to find out what he could, he'd check the papers every chance he got. Here and there through the years he caught wind of a few of them.

A wedding or two, a few deaths, one or two honours.

Not much though.

For the most part his family disappeared, and really, "I must've disappeared for them too." John gasped his shaking breath calming now, "but I still loved them."

John wiped his face, "and I still wanted them to be well and do good." John took a breath wiping his face, "they put up with me for as long as they could. … They couldn't do anything for me."

It was some time after this that John started to get bothered by the little things. Carson was what John considered a friendly guy, always patting him on the back or sitting close, their feet knocking together. Now though Carson was always softly caressing him, or sitting so close that their sides were constantly pressed together. John figured it was Carson being over protective because every time John looked up Carson was quick to hide a worried look on his face. John couldn't figure out why he was doing this but he really wished Carson would stop.

Things went on as unusual and eventually Carson eased off in his queerness. Though now instead of the college student going out on most nights, or dragging John out to meet yet another group of new mates (when he wasn't studying) Carson spent his time at home. It was a bit claustrophobic at first and felt like being tied down but John made himself adjust to it quickly. Before long John and Carson were always together, John even helping the guy study.

By 1991 they had fallen into a pattern.

Depending on his classes Carson would usually take breakfast or lunch with John and at night they'd always sit on the couch watching Dr. Owl or some such T.V. show. Apparently in Britain there was no stigmatism attached to anything sci. fi. it was just another form of entertainment.

John was grateful for this and allowed himself to indulge to his hearts content.

Though if anyone asked him his favourites were the classics and old dusty cowboy tales. Stories of brave, strong and silent men rambling around out on the open range. If anyone were to quote him and not know him personally they'd immediately say he was the Yank with the far too great like for Smoking Gun.

Privately, sitting on the couch next to his room mate John would get lost in the ecstasy of anything and everything out of this world. If it involved an alien he was more then apt to already be half way through watching or reading it.

Most nights after some of their favourite shows John and Carson would ramble on out to the back yard and watch the stars as best they could.

That was another guilty pleasure of his, aliens.

John figured he believed in them because he had been cast out of his own family many decades before. Maybe it was because of feeling like an outsider no matter where he lived, or his need for a family again. His wish for someone to constantly be watching out for him, giving him the love and guidance he lost when he was tossed out. Maybe it was because of something else entirely.

Whatever it was the nights he spent in the accompaniment of his friend filled John with a solid wholeness he'd never been allowed before. Together they'd sit, watching shows about all knowing and saviour type, ethereal beings. Afterwards they'd go out into the backyard and look for extraterrestrial objects in the sky through their second hand telescope.

It was on these nights, which were most nights, that John would have a deep cold sink into his soul. It wouldn't pop up until he looked at Carson and the man would brush against him his smile broadening into a loving childish grin.

It's said that the most terrifying thing is that which we cannot see, cannot name nor measure. If we can't quantify nor even describe that which is bothering us the unlabelled thing can become an entanglement, a spiders web, a noose even.

It wasn't long before John was waking up strangled in his own sheets, his bed soaked through, his body so wet it was as if someone had left him out in the rain.

On those nights which became more and more frequent he'd find himself shivering over a cup of tea in the kitchen downstairs, his feet bare and pained by the cold wooden floor.

It was in these hours that his mind tried to bring up all the close touches, soft caresses, and footsie that the man he was living with had been doing.

John would stuff it away stating Carson was not some god damned pervert and demand that his mind stop thinking such oddities. It was drawing conclusions that didn't exist, all the conspiracy theory T.V. shows getting to him. Yet, now that he had seen it his mind kept spitting out connections it never would have. It was as if John's brain was some damn super computer spitting out answers to questions he'd never asked.

At first he was able to beat down, shove away, even what felt like physically grind to a halt the gears in his mind.

After a good month and a half of this he started to realize his own will power was not enough, but he'd never admit it.

Soon John found that adding a bit of good strong booze to his cup was the only way to get his mind to obey his will. And soon after that he was readily adding a good half a cup of alcohol to his last bit of tea for the night.

This worked for a while till Carson finally called him out on it. John grumbled at the man to leave it alone and thankfully Carson did.

Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the constant darkness in the corner that John refused to face. Whatever it was not five months after his sudden realization that Carson might be gay did he start to wake up with a growling gnawing need in the pit of his gut.

It felt as though his stomach was being eaten, some invisible claw grabbing his very torso in a fist and twisting. John would wake up most nights gasping, his guts churning, the very digestive juices screaming out for food. It was in these wee hours at two or three a.m. that the darkness would whine pleading with him to take what he was offered. That Carson was infact a sicko, a deviant like him and he should welcome it! That the man would openly allow John to draw from him. Then John's mind would kick in and point out that this was more then likely a survival mechanism. That it had been proven by the Kinsey Scales that it was normal to be bi, for survival in a group where one is cared for is far higher and greater then if one were lonely and alone, vulnerable. That love had a great potential for being used to ones benefit, and it would allow you, John especially, to live for that much longer.

It was the night that his mind suggested that he just slip into Carson's room, draw just enough to sooth and sneak away again that he finally did something about it.


	4. Chapter 3 - Don't Let Me Know

**Don't Let Me Know**

"_He will bring into the light of day all that at present is hidden in darkness, and he will expose the ____secret motives__ of men's hearts."_

John sat snuggling under the covers, he was warm, happy and best of all he was enjoying himself. Carson sat, a broad furnace next to him, for all the warmth they both put out you'd figure they'd never need blankets, even on a night like tonight.

Thunder struck again and the sleet started, it was half past October and quickly moving into November. Turing the heat on wasn't an option for them so sweaters, blankets and hot pots of tea it was. John silently wished for forced air heating. He started rubbing his hands together noticing how the room had gone cold again. Maybe he needed a snack he always got cold when he didn't have dinner.

"Oh let me get that." Carson scooped his hands up in his shovel sized paws. John squirmed a bit enjoying the warmth but a bit awkward. He tried to chalk it up to odd Scottish friendliness, or the odd way English men were. Granted they did seem somewhat light in the loafers especially when you first "got off the boat", but as time went on John really started to wonder about Carson.

"Mmm, you wanna change it?" John asked, leaning away. There were no remote controls and changing the channel meant having to get up and cross the room. Then wait until you found something to watch, usually by that time you were ready to lay down right in front of the darn T.V.

"Well," Carson paused for a minute, "If I do then you'll get cold, it'll leave a big empty spot for a bit."

"How cold is it in here."

"I'm figuring zero. " Carson said.

John smirked, "yeah, sounds about right." He took his hands back and rubbed his arms.

Carson being the oddly friendly guy he was reached over and wrapped his arms around him. He rubbed John's shoulders then held him in a bear hug of sorts. John frowned, he wiggled to sit back over on his side, as the local evening news came on.

Carson squirmed, "hey John can I ask ye' somethin'?"

"Yeah su-" "A murder rocks the metro area here in Birmingham tonight-"

John froze.

"A corpse was found just inside Selly Oak Park yesterday having the appearance of being eaten, residents in the area are stunned and -"

He gasped and watched in horror as the report went on. This thing had been in the paper here and there but it had been buried in the back. So far it hadn't made it to the news except for one other time. Apparently it was a blight or thing of shame so the town was trying to keep it hidden. John was grateful for this because the only other time it had been on the telly he'd had to leave the room.

Carson appeared on the screen next looking dashing and strong, his chest puffed out, his shoulders rolled back. Despite his covering John cold see the tell tale signs of harried stress around his eyes and in the creases of his mouth.

"Hey John I've got a question te' ask ye'" Carson pulled on John's arm.

A reporter stood next to the Carson on screen rambling off something long and detailed. Carson was a private person not liking the stage or being the center of crowds and to John it showed in this moment. He was trying to play off his nervous shock of being interviewed yet was giving off every sign of nearly clamping up tight and bolting.

"So what do you think of all the upset lately?"

The microphone was shoved into his friends face.

"Well, I ahh!" Carson rocked back on his feet and gave a winning smile. "Really I donno. I wish, taking a few classes up at University here," he gave a half hearted point over his shoulder, "tha' the curfew wasn't in place but I haven't been too worried, I figure their about to catch the culprit. I mean I figure there's tell tale signs it was a Libertine and how many of them are out there doin' that sort of thing now." He gave a half beaming chuckle the smile fading quickly. Apparently he'd said something wrong, John noticed it instantly, his comment was a bit prejudice though Carson hadn't realized it. To automatically assume it was a libertine was an insult, initially it was thought to be a ware-wolf of some sort the bodies so shredded and just mangled. Even the bones were eaten on some of the corpses. The story went on interviewing a few other people. John heard his throat make an odd kind of gasp and he sat up.

"-this investigators say has been going on for a good thee months now. Their petitions to get a head investigator from Scotland yard have finally been answered, and they hope to wrap this case up soon.

Until then police are reminding everyone to heed the ten o'clock curfew that was instituted. With everyone's help we should be able to-"

"What a load of bloody crap."

"What?" John turned coming back to the situation at hand. He shoved himself up and away.

"Burr! Cold mate!"

John shoved the blanket at him and stood. He needed to flee but where too, and what good would it do him.

He could feel Carson's gaze, "what's wrong John?"

"Ahh I- you-why didn't you-wow." He was terrified, to even take one wrong breath meant sure death for him.

Thankfully Carson noticed none of this and instead it was Carson's turn to be caught out. He went silent and shrunk under the blanket, self conscious.

John latched onto this instantly and played it for all it as worth. After far to many minutes of good hearted teasing John was able to slip up stairs to have his freak out.

Thankfully Carson never suspected a thing.

Despite his attempts to stop his body had other ideas. Before long it was as if John had no mind of his own, his body taking over. In an attempt to take control again John tried to keep himself full, yet despite the sheer gross quantities of food he consumed he never gained an ounce. Soon his feedings started to get on a regular schedule of four a week. He couldn't help himself and with this the number and frequency of the murders and killings mounted. The locals were distraught and just lost, and soon were beside themselves with worry. No matter how hard or long they searched there was no answer to the now infamous "Jack the Dripper". The name was stupid as all heck but it still sent shivers into everyone's spine. Bodies were found shrivelled, and dried, or rotting with open mouldy sores still bleeding out it seemed. Some of the corpses looked like a ware-wolf had eaten them alive. Others looked like they were still alive and well, their bodies carefully posed, their skin still pure and delicate, their whole form untouched in anyway.

It baffled the hell out of everyone and the curfew was clearly not working. The constables or police had thought it was at least four to five different people doing it. It wasn't until two months later that the private investigator they hired figured out it was one, maybe two people.

During this time Carson seemed to be working up to something. John figured it was financial especially after one incident. They'd been to a few antique and junk stores when they came upon an old wooden table and chairs. Carson took one look at it and ran his hand over the top, "would you like to buy a kitchen set together?" he smirked in that joking way he always did.

John chuckled and picked up a chair, "yeah sure why not." He checked for makers marks and to tell if it was made from real wood or some kind of cheap imitation. He figured that Carson was getting low on dough and that was why they guy had started dragging John to antique shops and any kind of second hand place.

Together they brought the table set home and proceeded to fix it up.

While looking for places to rent Carson had made sure to get his hands on a place that offered a shed slash workshop. This allowed John to be the local handyman and general fixer-upper. By this time he usually had a good five projects going on at once. Despite this John took the time to teach Carson everything he knew or had learned about wood and restoring it.

John taught Carson how to refurbish the old oak table and John sanded, sealed and repainted the chairs.

By the end it was good as new and looked perfect in their place.

It was the first and only thing they'd make together.

John was sure that by the end of the project Carson was going to level some kind of a bill on his head, saying he just didn't have enough to let John slide any more. That or he was going to ask John if he wanted to try and go in 50/50 on buying a house together. ( John always considered paying rent to be flushing your money down the toilet and he'd let Carson know this right off. )

Surprisingly nothing ever came. John started asking about tuition and the cost of school supplies thinking he should try his damnedest to help out somehow. Carson just told him not to worry about it and got a bit grumpy. Not wanting to rock the boat John decided to leave the whole thing alone after a while.

It was during this time that John started to get hot and bothered. He was just fine going out and being on his own, even running into other males was no big deal. But he was starting to notice more and more the good looking guys, and his day dreams were starting to wander in the wrong direction.

It was the day he finally decided to get his guts up and settle it once and for all that he really wished he could take back. He'd gone and driven to a town he'd never been before, and bought a magazine and _the news paper_. He had the items bagged in a brown sack and quickly rushed home with his contraband. He hoped reading it would put to rest all the terrible illusions that he might be a sicko. Tossing the thin brown bag on the table he started up the kettle for a cup and went up stairs to use the loo. By the time he got back down stairs Carson had gotten home. Now Carson's class schedule was always changing and it was true that every now and then the guy would pop up unexpectedly. For the most part though Carson was out all the time, his class and work schedule keeping him more then busy. This meant that John had the run of their rented home to himself and had no worries.

John walked into the small dining room where their newly finished table sat, "Hey Car!" John slapped him on the back forgetting all about what he was about to do, "what brings ya' home early?"

Carson sat stone still his back to John, "Ah-umm" he cleared his throat and rubbed his mouth. "I ah, me class was cancelled so I decided te' come home, take ye' out to lunch."

"Ah, yeah I guess." John went into the adjoining kitchen, "Hey you want a cuppa? I just put the tea kettle on!" he called out to Carson.

"Not really John."

John blinked, "Somethin' wrong?" he turned around, went back into the dining room.

Carson sat, the porn magazine and Gaily News paper out in all their glory.

Carson shifted unnerved and gingerly reached out his finger tips, "So whatchyeah got here John," he smirked and picked at the items in front of him.

"Hey don-" John grabbed for them but Carson snatched them up ready to tease.

John rocked side to side watching Carson and the dirty filth in his hands.

"John?"

"What."

"Can I ask ye' somethin'..."

The room suddenly grew serious and Carson's smile faded.

He put the magazines down on the table.

If John didn't know better he was about to be evicted, in a foreign country.

"What."

"Are ye' gay." It came out like a parent asking a child if they'd done drugs or the like.

Maybe it was this, maybe it was the tension, maybe it was being found out before he even knew himself; whatever it was John went off on poor Carson; right then and there. Later he wouldn't be able to recall exactly what he said or what happened, but he knew he scared the guy shitless. John took a silent pride in that for the guy was built like a dump truck. For someone that big and that good at wrestling and all things sports to be intimidated by someone as lithe (compared to him) as John; well, it said a lot.

In the ruckus Carson had tried to grab the crap away from him which caused John to shred the shit and shove it in the trash.

In the end he left Carson standing at the foot of the stairs slack jawed and just staring.

John had stomped up to his own room and later on might have heard a knock on the door, some constable or what have you coming to see if everything was alright.


	5. Chapter 4 - Three Months Later

**Three Months Later**

May 1992

John awoke shivering and soaked to the core. This had become a regular thing being ripped from a sound and deep sleep by gnawing thunderous pain. He doubled over grabbing his gut. His very centre had become a sucking void. It was as if teeth were clawing at him trying to turn him inside out.

John heard a ghostly moan and forced himself upright. Of course it would make sense now for the house ghost to come calling. If they were attracted to strong emotions, which John had been told once, then it would make sense. ( He was overpowered with suffering at the moment.)

Another moan worse and louder then the last rattled him to his core and brought him back to the here and now. It had become a running joke between himself and Carson that the place was haunted. A few times Carson had walked into the bathroom while John was brushing his teeth stating how the ghost had struck again last night. The young soon to be doctor had become truly rattled with John finding him sitting up a few mornings saying he'd been awakened by the ethereal calls. At the time John thought of joking that they should invite a priest to come over. Maybe just having Sunday brunch with someone of the clergy would be enough. But since Carson had a bad background with church he never went so far as to say it.

John was glad for that now.

He shoved himself forward and grabbed his pants. Quickly he slipped them on and then flailed snagging his shirt from the other night.

He didn't realize till he was sitting on the edge of his bed half dressed that the noises he was hearing wasn't some ghost;

it was his own voice.

John shuddered another moan about to escape him, rattled to his core he stopped it half way through. Grabbing his shoes he silently slipped out of his bedroom.

He passed Carson's room his bare feet giving sharp aches the wood floor thankfully silent, or maybe it was the rushing in his ears blocking out the creaks of the floor boards. His adrenaline spiked when he slipped past almost as if his own blood were calling out for help and to be found. Thankfully Carson was dead gone.

John padded down to the first floor and grabbed his keys, he opened the back door wondering why it didn't creak like it usually did but he wasn't about to question it now.

He shut the door tight and locked it behind him.

Now to find some food.

It was half past 5 a.m. when John managed to get back home. John would later find out that it had been a Saturday and Valentines Day to boot. The latter would plague him with guilt for lifetimes to come. Starvation does funny things to the human mind. It makes one see or hear things, it can even make something seem as though it is one way when it is really the opposite. It will also give the mind a plethora of excuses and good solid reasons to get what it needs. All living beings are crippled and ruled by this and John was no exception. That morning all that had mattered was getting enough to take the edge off and be somewhat satisfied for a while. Like an addict John readily answered the call.

Unlocking the front door John didn't worry about the slight noise he was making and shut it. Since he figured it was a weekday he knew Carson would either be getting ready for classes or deep asleep in bed when he came back. He passed through the front foyer and was about to go upstairs when for whatever reason he decided to go into the kitchen. A good nosh like that usually deserved another one and he had gotten that news paper again, the one that had caused Carson and him to fight. John had decided, once again that maybe checking out this whole"Gay Scene" might be a good idea. And maybe, just maybe he could calmly sit down and talk to Carson about it. The news paper came out every fourth-night so it did no good for telling him what date it was. Despite all this John hid the damn thing as best he could, shoving it into his back pocket.

He walked into the dining room and was met by a sight.

Carson was sitting there, partially dressed in a pair of corduroys and his nightshirt. He was leaned forward elbows on knees, his hands clutching dishevelled hair.

He didn't move just stared at his bare feet.

A cold mug of half drunk tea was on the table next to him.

John froze,"Carson?"

…

"So where were you John." The voice was strangled, cold and empty, it echoed off the tile floor.

John took a step back.

At this the man lifted himself then leaned back. He crossed his arms and slowly raked John from top to bottom with his gaze.

He was more pale then John had ever seen him, his face drawn, his eyes dark and sunken. Despite all this there was red rimming his eye lids and his nose looked red and puffy.

John went to say what's wrong, what happened, something; but nothing came out. Guilt with where he'd just been and what he'd just been doing warred in him.

"So where were you John." this time it was warmer, deeper; softer.

John had to remind himself that Carson had no idea where he'd been so there was no reason to be scared.

"I … I ahh ..." John worked his mouth but nothing more would come out. His mind grasped at straws glomping onto _the newspaper _in his back pocket. To admit he was buying such a paper would get him kicked out instantly. Carson wasn't a sicko, over protective and more than friendly but not like that. He hadn't said a word so there was nothing but circumstantial evidence, as his boss used to say.

Yet …

His boss would also follow this up with, "Where there's smoke there's a fire and were gonna flush it out." Which back when John was working as a reporters assistant meant they were about to twist things into a story. So John could still be wrong.

"You know when I first met you there was something different about you."

John swallowed.

Carson let it sit for a bit the silence uncomfortable. It soon moved into awkward, his vivid gaze settling somewhere to John's left. "My Gran-mum always said I was good at tellin' people, but I couldn't put my finger on it."

John took a step back. It was as if he was suddenly the hunted; a victim about to be devoured.

Carson wagged his head, deep sadness about him, then pushed himself up. He shuffled around searching for what John couldn't tell. To John's shock he got out the dusty percolator. It was something John had bought the second he realized he was in Britain for good. He'd had to buy it from a catalogue and pay premium prices just to get it through customs, but it had been worth it. Carson had scoffed and chuckled it off, then gone about converting John into being a total tea drinker. Out of no where Carson found an equally dusty bag of pre-ground coffee and started up the whole mess. John rocked side to side antsy and not sure what to do with himself. He didn't want to know how bad the coffee would taste since he was sure it was more then stale by now.

"Sit down I need to know some things about ye'." Carson said with out turning around.

Next Carson got out the snifter of strong stuff that they kept under the sink then got two glasses and filled them to half full.

He placed one on the table.

When John just stared Carson nodded at him, "well, go on."

He frowned when John still didn't move.

Walking over he nudged John a bit roughly then slipped his hand into John's back pocket. John jumped and spun around.

"I'll take this for ye'." Carson gave a slight smirk and slapped the paper down on the table. He grasped John's arm and brought him over to one of the kitchen chairs, John gingerly perch on the edge of it.

A minute later Carson sat down right across from him and took a large sip.

Savouring it he sat back for a minute then inhaled long and low … after a while he let it out.

He looked down at his glass swirling the liquid, "so how old are ye' John?"

John's mouth went dry, he clutched the keys in his fist, between his knees.

Carson took another sip, "and is that ye' real name?" Carson glared up at him.

"Ahh," John wondered if he should let on or joke around. By now he was very close to Carson and really the guy deserved to know, "actually it was Jacob, … at one point," John smirked trying to lighten the mood.

Carson glared at him, unmoved.

"Ah-Carson-"

"Alright!" Carson hit his glass on the table, "lets make this easy for ye." His accent was coming out so thick now it was getting hard to understand him. "do ye' know of the' Sexual Offences Act o' 1967, Mm?"

John shook his head.

Carson chuckled, "then ye' haven't heard of the Criminal Justice Act passed in 1980."

John could feel his own face tighten into a frown, his senses so alert. He started to gasp, the air suddenly very thin and cold.

"Then de' ye' know abou' the deaths here in the surrounding area?" Carson clutched his glass tight about ready to throw it at him.

John scooted back, jumping at the terrible screeching whine. His chair started to tip back the stuttering feet bouncing to much to stay flat and level.

Carson shot out and grabbed him, sat him right and looked into John's eyes.

The world stopped.

If John didn't know better he swore the man before him had literally jumped right down into his soul and was knowing the whole of him at that moment.

"De' ye' know about the Slavery Abolition Act ah' 1833."

John's breath hitched, "Ye' sound more like eh' lawyer then a doctor Car." John chuckled, then he mentally slapped himself, hard. It was always in the worst of circumstances that his mind would bring up the most inappropriate jokes. So far he'd learned that they'd either get him free and save him from an imminent beating or they'd cause him to be literally "killed" or what would have passed as dead by anyone else.

After a minute Carson looked down and let go. He dragged his hand back across the table and sat back.

He licked his lips, "okay, how about this, hypothetically ... " he looked away, "I can't ask ye' any of this, and I'm not. But hypothetically, if I were te' ask ye' what would ye' say."

John frowned the accent catching him up a bit. If he didn't know better he could swear Carson had used a few foreign words in there, Gaelic maybe?

It was clear what he was getting at none the less, what he was trying to; well, not ask.

Carson got up the percolator done. Thankfully the guy decided the best thing to do at the moment was to put some distance between them. John wondered if it would be okay to make a mad dash for it, he didn't know if the death penalty was enforced here.

Carson poured two cups his back to John. "When you walked into that pub that night I was floored, I'd never seen anyone-you're hair makes ye' look angelic. I fell for ye' the second I saw ye'. I tamped it down right, ye' hear, and I didn't let it surface again. But I need te' know." Carson scratched at his hairline a nervous tick that only popped up when he was at his most stressed. "My Mum always said I was a romantic," Carson mumbled his voice wavering. He rubbed his face, "and not good for anything but heart break." His nostrils flared and John saw a tear run down his cheek. "She said I'd go runnin' off with out me head some day." Carson leaned on the counter in front of the sink, and looked out the window.

He stood like that for a long while taking in the not so great scenery.

"Now I gotta ask ye' this an I don' want ye' flyin' off the handle like ye' did last time. I'm not coming on te' ye'," Carson clutched the edge of the counter, wringing his hands on it, "an' I don't want ye' in any fashion tha' you don't want me. …" Carson bowed his head, a sigh of "that didn't come out right," escaping him. After a minute he lifted his head, "don't worry John I'm not wanting ye' if that makes you feel any better. But-and know that if ye' leave ..." he paused for a minute shifting, "I'm willing to call the cops on what I know." Carson went stark still.

"Are ye' gay John."

John watched as the man seemed to puff up, ready for a blow. He thought about his options, or really tried too, his mind went so helpfully blank right then. John really wished at that moment it was possible to punch his own brain.

"I donno," he squirmed.

Carson seemed to deflate half way at this, his head droppingto his chest.

"Then can I ask ye' another question."

John started to twitch his leg bouncing.

"Why are ye' buying such things."

John swallowed, "well, ahh," he squirmed again, "I..." he gulped, "I was trying to … to …" suddenly his world blurred.

The next thing John knew he was weeping,

openly.

Years later while he was still bitter John would be more then certain the guy was messing with him. That Carson had it all planned out and had been pushing John to the edge. Setting him up so when he finally tipped over the precipice he could catch him. This wasn't the case at all but John wouldn't find this out until a good decade or so later. The truth was Carson was so head over heels in love with him so lost in his devotion that he was blind. All of Carson's ministrations, the inadvertent teasing, the over protective friendliness, it was all Carson doing his damnedest to hold back. John would also come to find that love makes one do strange things, things a rational person would never do. In the end Carson probably hadn't meant to act,do, or even say half of what he had. Or he wouldn't have if he hadn't been in love. Hell maybe love is a good thing. It had kept Carson alive and stopped him from killing himself; initially at least. Having someone fall in love with you and force an issue, well, it could be a good thing. Looking back John would realize that it was inevitable really. Some one, thing or circumstance would eventually find him and force him to face the truth he'd been burying and beating away for so damn long. And in the wider picture the bible always said; all things will be brought into the light. Though it was more _dragged _into the light, kicking, screaming, and denying it the whole damn way. John was glad he was taught that only the strongest people admit, face and then accept the truth; no matter how terrible it is. And really he couldn't have been forced to face which had been beaten out of him as a child with any better person then Carson. That man did for him what no one else had, he loved and cared for him unconditionally.

But none of this open, deep and transcending into true maturity understanding would be realized yet, not this day.

At the moment John didn't realize anything, all he could think of was that he wasn't hysterical and he wasn't emotional either. Only a few times had he ever gone over the edge and there had been some pretty extreme circumstances to cause it. The time he bought his car he was stressed to the point where he was losing his hair. After that the short yet bad ten year marriage eventually caused him to escape to Europe for a second trip. After one terrible night not one week after the divorce John had been at a bar snockerd off his ass. Someone had told him that being married to a woman tends to do that to yeah, make ya' run till you can't get away any more. She was beautiful, perfect, sexy as all hell and African American. Maybe it was the prejudice which is still rampant today that broke them up; it definitely didn't keep them together. Really it had been the fact that he was gay, and just hadn't been able to see it at the time.

Along with this John had never been one to cry, he'd done this only a handful of times in his life, once when he was very young right after he'd been kicked out of his family's home. But now out of the blue he was shaking like he was having some god damned seizure!

After a while he heard he shift of fabric as Carson turned around.

"Oh god John!" he heard Carson sigh, then felt arms embrace him.

He jumped up shoving the guy away, balled his fist.

When he was finally able to get himself under control he went to speak, to answer; but what popped out was, "If I-you won't kick me out if I tell you will you."

They both blinked, what the hell was that.

He felt Carson pause his eyes still a watery blur and heard fabric shift again as the man stepped back.

"No … I won't."

"I … I …" John worked his mouth his voice going numb again. He cleared his throat harshly and forced his voice anyway. "I don't know what-why. I think, are you gay Carson."

The man before him stilled, going entirely silent, then, "Aye. I am John."

…

John nodded.

…

"I'm not a sicko nor a deviant. My momma raised me right." John nodded once curt, "I've had some problems and was not right when I was young. But my Dad an' Ma' fixed it." John took comfort in the thick southern twang escaping him. He put his face in his hand, "I've been having some trouble with you lately, and I don't understand-"  
"It's alrigth John," He heard foot steps then felt Carson's hand rub his arm, "it's alright."

"I went down there-" John backed up bumping against the counters edge. "I ahh..." He looked to the side snorting back his tears, "I went and got the paper cause I was needing to end it."he breathed out and crossed his arms, "show I'm not a queer."

Carson stilled, his aqua eyes vivid.

That was one thing that had always bothered John, Carson's eyes were a color he'd never seen before and they had an intense look about them. They were piercing and unnerved not only him but others too.

Right now they were boring into John with such great concern and deep caring that John felt suffocated.

"John." Carson shifted on his feet and took two steps back wrapping his arms around himself. He craned his neck trying to catch John's eye.

The man's sudden need to look him in the face really bothered John.

"Do you know what I meant when I asked ye' about the Sexual Offences Act eh' 1967."

John shook his head.

"I," Carson knelt before him, placing his knees on the floor before him. He craned his head looking up into his eyes, "it was a law that legalized gay acts between men,"

John gasped in disgust; he looked down into Carson.

The guy held back a smirk, "An' the Criminal Justice Act o' 1980 was Scotland's law that entirely decriminalized homosexuals and homosexual acts." Carson grasped John's ankle. "It's natural to be this way John." he shook the hand on John's leg ever so slightly, "and it's legal to be gay here."

For all his strength and all his fighting to hold back; that broke the flood gates. Maybe it was all the shit he'd been through in his life so far but John crumbled into Carson's arms, he was just glad he had someone to catch him.

It took till that evening for Carson to calm him down. Carson brought him into the living room and settle him on the couch.

John sat numb.

Just numb.

Carson went back into the kitchen and from the sound of it started the kettle on to boil. After a few minutes he came back and gently slid himself in right next to John. Soft as a feather Carson gingerly threaded his arm behind John. John didn't even notice till he found himself pressed fully body from head to shoulder up against the man. It wasn't till he felt Carson's hand pat the back of his head, his fingers thread through his hair that he realized what was going on.

He was being hugged.

John blinked and let himself relax for the first time in several life times. He smiled and waited a few beats then braved snuggling close.

A sigh escaped...

He reached out then paused, his hand half way to laying on Carson's knee. Carson shifted looking down at the hand. He grasped it and placed it securely on his knee.

…

He laid his own hand, warm and heavy over John's.

After a few minutes he threaded their fingers together.

They sat like that for a good while the silence comfortable for once and not strained, awkward or uptight.

It was amazing and John wondered why he hadn't given into this before. Why had he fought it for so damn long!? Infact why hadn't he noticed Carson was gay, all the signs were there, they were screaming at him the whole time.

Maybe it was because you weren't looking for it, a little voice in the back of his mind echoed.

John shoved it away.

"John."

"Mm."

Carson shifted, his body tensing ever so slightly. The soothing rub of Carson's hand stilled his hand becoming heavy. His fingers curled around John's head holding him in place ever so gently.

Carson squirmed, "can I ask ye' something?"

John twitched.

…

"Now, I don't want you to get upset when I say this, and it's to premise something else..."

…

The beat in Carson's chest quickened, John was surprised that he was able to feel the man's pulse at all.

"I love you-but …"

The pause stretched on for a beat; or three.

"Did you kill those people."

John sat for a minute.

…

"I did. I sucked 'em dry!" He smirked giving a half hearted whine, "I sucked 'em up like spaghetti noodles!" John smirked and covered his face and mocked whining, or tried too. He was chuckling to hard though.

"John." Carson sighed and bopped his head but John heard the smile in his voice.

Just then the kettle went off and Carson un-threaded himself and got up from the couch. He made up a cup just the way John liked it and came back over.

"Here." John stood, "How about-" he nodded at the kitchen.

"Alright." Carson walked back into the small dining area and put his mug on the table. He brought over his own and pulled the opposite chair out.

"You said you dinna know about the 1833 Slavery Abolition Act." Carson went back into the kitchen and got the sugar. "Did ye' know it had a clause in it."

John frowned and shook his head, "no-ah, no-no." he watched as Carson came back into the room. "Why."

"Well, actually I donno if it's a-it's more of ah, stipend, or extra bit if you will. But it basically says that in order to ensure the safety of all human beings England an it's colonies will freely give and supply nourishment to all those who are dependant on the human form," He took a sip from his own mug.

John blinked, "what?"

"Well," Carson winced and put his tea down, "it means that if ye' are a Libertine then you get free nourishment." He grabbed the sugar and heaped in way too much, like always.

John sat back, "huh?" he glared at Carson, lost.

"But since ye' aren't a citizen yet I wouldn't put it past them to refuse ye'." Carson mumbled to himself. He took a long thoughtful sip. He put his mug down and picked up his spoon.

"I've got a question," Carson stirred his mug watching it closely, the spoon making a clink,

clink,

clink.

"Would you be willing to feed off me?"

John felt the blood drain from his face, he shoved away from the table, hands grasping the edge of it tightly.

He stared at Carson.

Carson didn't move, he just looked up watching him.

He waited long, not giving an inch.

"No ahh, I'm not-you-no, you-can't I ahh..."

"Then I have another question," Carson reached out and grabbed John's hands. He held them gently but with strength, the hands of a doctor. "Will ye' be willing te' go down to the Hospital with me and sign up for feedings."

John went to shove away, when he couldn't; he yanked.

Carson didn't budge.

"I-I can't! I'm not!"

"John-"  
"I'm not! I can't! I'm not!"

"John-"

"No! You don't get it I-"

"There's blood on your mouth."

_Gasp!_

John ripped his hands away and felt his face. He jumped up and ran upstairs into the bathroom.

Carson was right, in the cracks right around his mouth was dried blood, or the stain from it. There was something on or around his nose, pulling his nair to the side he saw blood encrusted and flaking. It was in his nose, around his nose, bits were stuck in his hairline!

John stepped back-

"I've been watching, wondering." Carson crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame. "You're so darn skinny, pale, no matter how much ye' eat I can't get ye' te' eat enough-gain weight. It made no sense. You can't take the sun too well-"

John knew the reason for this one it was because he hadn't fed. If he'd had blood then the sun wouldn't bother him one bit. But being deprived like he had been for so many damn decades he was worse then a read head, his very eyes hurting from the too bright light. Hell it had gotten to the point where he was getting slight burns from certain types of lamplight. And until recently he had to always wear sunglasses, even when working in the shed. He was just thankful that with the terrible pain and sensitivity he was able to see fairly well in the dark.

John wondered if this was a hunting mechanism, for when man was still in it's cave-man stage.

"Ye' smell like blood." Carson's words ripped him back to the here and now.

Johns' world stopped.

"Ye've been smelling like blood since I met ye'."

John frowned, he hadn't started feeding till just recently that didn't make any sense-  
"You're sickly looking and frail yet have strength that you shouldn't." Carson shifted, blocking the door way. "I was lost till we learned about your type in class. … Along with human physiology."

He let that set in for a good long while, then.

"I learned that for a normal human body, the way you look is literally a corpse. … I was essentially pining after a corpse." Carson chuckled to himself and wiped his face. "Which really says a lot about me!" He wrung his hair.

"John! What am I te' do with ye'!"

John looked at Carson, watching as the guy went to sit down sliding down the wall next to the bathroom.

John stepped out, "Carson."

He came around and sat down next to him.

Not sure what to do he reciprocated Carson's earlier kindness and threaded his arm behind the man's shoulders. He tugged and Carson flopped over onto him.

He was one hell of a weight but John managed to stay upright none the less.

"John I'm gonna hafta tell!" Carson put his face in his hands. "I'm gonna hafta go down te' the Constables Office-"  
"no. No. NO! I'm not-" John tried to turn him, make Carson face him.

"-And tell 'em I've been harbouring a-"

"Carson!" John grabbed both his shoulders and shook him, "NO!"

Carson looked up at him; finally!

"I'm no-not. I'm not! I don't even recall …"

Carson's expression changed, anger suddenly rising up.

"I don't even recall-it could be anyone-"

The next thing John knew Carson was sucked onto him like some leech! Carson's lips entirely eclipsed his own, covering his mouth. John fought shoving away, but Carson grabbed his arms and wrapped his whole form around him, twisting John's arms so they were behind his back!

Carson then leaned forward, using his considerable weight to his advantage. John felt his own brows go up as he tried to yell yanking with all his might!

Carson just laid him back as easy as slicing bread and wriggled his tongue against John's lips. It tickled and when John gasped Carson forced his way in. It was the most erotic and terrifying thing John had ever experienced in his life! He was shocked that unlike in his day dreams he didn't melt and become a puddle of goo right there. But there was a reason for that the front of John's mind called bringing him back to the dangers of now.

Carson's tongue ran it's way along his gum line, searching out all the little pockets, it licked it's way across his taste buds, plucking out the small hints and bits.

After an eternity Carson finally leaned back. "I love ye' John!" the man gulped. In a strangled cry he gasped and bowed his forehead to lean on John's shoulder. The only thing that came to John's mind was, I'm sorry that you do.

I'm sorry that you do.

…


	6. Chapter 5 - Silence

**Silence**

John didn't know what to do now, it was too late, he could smell himself on Carson.

The man had tasted the blood he drank.

John lay there for a while, after a bit he squirmed getting his arms free. He thread his arms up and grabbed Carson's shoulders. He pushed weakly, once, twice, thrice.

Carson lifted his head then moved threading his fingers into the back of John's hair. He held John's head as if he were a child, the man was such a bear compared to him He tilted John's head forward and pressed their foreheads together.

"John ye' … ye' … Oh god John!"

"I'm not him!"

They both froze.

John's eyes went wide, what the hell was-did he just.

"I'm not him."

He heard and felt Carson's legs shift. The man brought his elbows down planting them on either side of John's torso. He lifted himself and looked down into John's eyes.

"What do ye' mean."

"I didn't I'm not."

"How so."

"I … I didn't. … I don't recall-" John started to shiver, he had no idea where it was coming from. Maybe it was the hell he was in, maybe it was the realization he was about to go to the electric chair in a foreign country.

Maybe it was the terribleness of finally facing the truth he never wanted to till now.

It was true when he went out he never recalled what happened and he never wanted too.

As far as he knew it could be someone else, hell he didn't really know the roads around here and so far everyone killed had been some kind of a rapist or convicted killer anyway. Heck the story wasn't even news worthy till the rich guy who had ripped off so many innocent investors wound up dead in a back alley in town.

It might have been someone else that had killed all those people. There was no way it was him, or just him.

Carson shifted again, "John," he clutched his shoulders now. For an instant the thought shot through John's mind that he was glad homes were not wired with ever present and watching cameras, for he sure as hell would be in danger if such a thing existed.

They both would be.

"Do ye' know tha' I love ye' with all me heart, please please John, say the same. Please say ye' love me too and I'll help ye'."

"I, I" John reached out and clutched Carson's waist. His fingers tangled in the fabric wringing it in his grasp. "I think I love you Carson."

Carson's mouth pressed into a thin line, his face changing.

John wriggled trying to scoot back, get out from under the man on top of him. "I, I have no way-idea. I if I had known-been able to admit ..."

They stayed like that, Carson watching him as if he were trying to walk right down into John's mind.

John didn't know what else to say; really there wasn't anything else he could say. Not at this point.

"I-I just never allowed myself. Maybe if I had, had known, then ..." he tried to explain,

After a bit Carson frowned, "John," he shifted then got up. He grabbed onto John and pulled him up with him.

"I need ye' te' be entirely honest with me." Carson clutched tight to him refusing to let go. "Are ye' a Libertine."

The two things John had always feared being asked, and it happened in one day, asked by the same man. This was another thing that John had always shoved away, never admitting what he was. His own family had made sure to deny, ignore and then try and make sure he was not a Libertine.

But unlike gayness they couldn't beat it out of him. It was after murders started happening in the town John lived in after he came back home that his family suspected him.

Personally John couldn't really recall any of them, the only things he ever did recall were pale skin, so thin and translucent yet with out a drop of color in it.

It was after his family started picking on him that things went awry, before long there were fights and the next thing John knew he was being kicked out of his own home.

The life he had once been promised gone.

He was going to be the head of the family, the one to carry on the name and raise his own farm and children in his parents house. He was no longer the older brother, the one everyone looked to for support. Instead he was shame, "a mess" to ruined to even be talked to by his own siblings. His sisters and brothers had moved out or were barely around except for the few youngest by the time he made it back home. Now John wondered if his own parents had sent them to live with others because he had been back. He realized even back then that he was seen as a threat by his own family.

"John." Carson shook him dragging him back to the question he never wanted to be asked.

"I … I" John worked his mouth, "I don't want to be." his voice cracked. His eyes stung, of all the things to let out he was letting them all out today; and wailing like a banshee through all of them!

Yes it was true things were dragged out kicking and John was one of them, kickin', screamin' an' cryin' all the way.

Like most people when confronted with something they can't face or initially admit John was denying. Somewhere in the back of his brain he was shaking his head no, No, NO! He was still numb in shock and the edges of his vision were white. It was like he was going through a vivid and very physical dream, half out of his body. It would all be over soon enough the back of his mind told him, and he'd be able to resume his life.

None of this was real …

Don't worry none of this could possibly be what he thought he was facing right now. He was always thinking it was worse then it was, Carson was just misunderstanding, mis-thinking, all he had to do was correct that wrong line of thought.

That's all.

John squirmed and stood disentangling himself.

Carson stood too, his face slack in shock.

Apparently he had been in denial also.

"Here." Carson grabbed his arm and dragged him into his room.

"Carson what-"

"Just gimme a minute." He growled in a mumble. The man let go of John for a minute. Looking back John would wonder if making a mad dash for it would have changed things. … Still to this day he figured no, it wouldn't have.

Carson dug around for something, finally coming up with what he was looking for. He got out what looked like one of those scientific burners and his old student med kit.

"Carson." John demanded and took a step back.

"Now don't you go anywhere." Carson sat the burner down on his night table then started it up. He took out a scalpel and wiped it down. "I can't believe I'm doin' this! I can't believe!-" Carson whined mumbling to himself. He ran the scalpel through the flame rocking back and forth on his bed; he looked like a mad man!

John took another step back almost out the door.

"Carson what are ye' doin'?" John put his hands up, readying.

"They taught us this in medical school. I canna believe I'm having te' do it now. I just can't believe!"

"Taught you what!?" John stepped out of the room.

"This is the most dangerous thing! They said never,never-I can't believe!"

He watched as Carson raced to the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He stuck his tongue out and looked in the mirror.

"MUPH!" Carson winced and bit his tongue hard as he sliced through the tip of his own flesh.

John heaved.

"Oh My GOD! Carson!" he reached forward grabbed Carson's arm, but Carson spun and grabbed him back. Carson wrapped his form around him, grabbed the back of his head!  
"I'm sorry John!"

That was all the warning he got before Carson was frenching him again.

John shoved disgusted! He struggled hitting Carson but the man was unrelenting. He sucked on John's corner teeth, first one then the other, then the picked the right one and just went at it. Rubbing his cut right beneath his tooth.

John squirmed, and tried for a kick, it didn't work! He was still weak as if he were a desert with out rain a few feedings in several months weren't enough to give him the strength he should have had. It would take maybe a life time before that would happen. (Later on John would come to find that wasn't the only reason he was weak, his body unable to recover despite the quite excellent blood he'd had. At that moment though it didn't matter.)

Carson kept it up, playing with his tooth, holding John tighter, nearly crushing him!

It was when John gave one last valiant attempt at fleeing that Carson clamped down, his whole form squeezing the air out of John.

Suddenly his body gave in and responded! His member grew and hardened not to the point of horniness but half way. At the exact same moment his tooth lengthened and hardened, it reached out, sucking into the cut. John couldn't control himself and watched in horror as he suddenly took over. He grabbed Carson the man going weak and limp in his arms. He bit down, the man calling out, that annoying painful whine like always. It angered John and he bit harder sucking for all he was worth.

He fed, and drank.  
He gulped once, twice, three times. Ahhh yes, this was it. He leaned back and licked the tongue before him, then went in for round two.

"John!" the whine pierced him.

"Stop!"

He looked down, somehow they'd landed on the floor, a tangle of legs.

He bent forward and felt the flesh struggle, easy just bite-

"John hear me-it's me!'" There was some kind of noise "I'm Carson!"

Never before had he been entirely conscious when this happened, but never before had it happened slow enough for him to know what was going on.

He also had never had only one of his teeth grow before, it was always in unison, he didn't even know it could happen like that. Maybe it was this, maybe it was the fact that it was only one tooth, maybe it was the true love of Carson's voice calling to him, whatever it was John managed to come back to himself.

He was still half blind, his vision black around the edges. He stilled and shoved back. The body before him clunked hitting the tub by it's side.

Like all the other corpses some thing in his mind rang calling to him.

He scoffed and sat back against the toilet.

They stayed like that for a long time John coming back to himself bit by bit.

"Holy shit!" Carson's shocked wide eyed stare was boring into him.

It made John shift.

"I was told never te' do tha' now I know why." he went to shove himself up but his arms didn't work. "Everything- it all happened just as they explained." he laughed, a bit out of it as he tried to get up again. "Even the nerve cells, the neroparaylyzer it's still workin'" he laughed again finally getting himself to sit upright. '"I've-I've never been able te' see medicine work in such-in real life before!"

John winced and looked over at him.

He jumped.

Carson was pale, white as a corpse and his features changed, as though he'd lost muscle mass. On top of this the look on his face, he was terrified trying to joke it all off; make out being brave.

It hit John just then that Carson thought he was about to be devoured.

John reached out, "Car-"

The man jumped, the room shaking (the whole place was cheaply built) he pinched his eyes tight and whimpered shoving himself up tight against the tub. He bent his head shivering like a leaf.

"Carson I-"  
John saw tears start to roll down the corners of his eyes.

"I'm not gonna hurt you-I'm sorry Carson!"

Carson just sat their breathing through his nostrils, his fingers clawing at the tile, steeling himself for round two.

John frowned then it hit him, "Carson is this what your Dad did-" he saw Carson's whole demeanour change, he bowed his head further his chin hitting his chest. He pinched his eyes so tight John was pained by the sight.

It was clear he was falling into a flash back.

John had seen it a few times, on his brother, while he'd had to live with his family for a day here or there; he'd been to war. John had never seen anything like this though, his brothers flash backs weren't as bad; that said something right there he figured.

John could do nothing but get up and walk away.

He went down stairs and plopped himself down on one of the kitchen chairs he and Carson had refurbished.

This was the worst day of his life.

The back of his mind rang in a sing song, no it wasn't and he should be grateful he was around to go through this; he kicked it, _hard. _

After a while he thought he heard Carson weeping up stairs.

He didn't dare go up though.

He couldn't take any more, grabbing his coat he left. He walked long and hard not stopping, restless. It was right around day break when he nearly waltzed into a closed bar that he realized how long he'd been awake. It had been a full day and night. He decided then to start back home.

He didn't get back till morning, but this time it was late morning, right around 10 a.m. or so.

When he walked in the house was silent and still. He glanced around wondering where Carson was. He went up stairs and didn't find him. Coming back down he looked in the living room, kitchen, then the dinging room the very place where this had all started.

There was a note on the table, long and in Carson's beautiful well purposed scrawl.

_**John, **_

_Letters are dangerous things and you'll need to burn this after you read it please make sure to do so immediately. Hide the ashes there needs to be no evidence, I'm this scared right now. _

_I didn't tell you when you came home but not long before, just last night actually a Constable and that detective came by. They said they were questioning the residents in the area and asked if they could come in.  
They said that from the information they'd gleamed they were sure the killer was frequenting the area, that he might even be from this neighbourhood. They asked me if they could look around and I felt I had no choice and said alright, but I felt obliged and sure of our innocence. They didn't do much just poked around here and there then had a cup of tea. It was all very odd and I wondered if they thought I was the culprit. I made sure to put them right on that; it didn't really work though. They just seemed more suspicious. _

_This angered me and I soon had to show them out. _

_I'm sure they were watching or listening in last night. I wouldn't be surprised if they set up some kind of surveillance or will very soon. Heck look across the street and see if there's any new cars parked now. _

John looked but he knew they wouldn't be that dumb. More then likely they'd be parked on the street right behind them or maybe even a block or two away. They'd never make it that obvious. John made a note to check the surrounding area as soon as Carson got home. After he'd had a good shower and sleep. He stretched a yawn escaping him and went back to the kitchen table.

_I've decided that the best thing to do is to go down to the station and talk to someone. I'm going to call my family and see if there's anything that can be done in our defence. My brother has better knowledge then me in the law and I'm hoping my sister who still has some of her cash will be able to help with the expense of a defence. _

_I just called my brother and he says he can help but there's not much that can be done as far as he knows. He's a right bugger, he always has been. I think he likes the idea of me being turned in, and after all I've done for him. As for my sister I can't get my hands on her, but she has three kids to care for. _

_My dad , _

The paper was a mess there tears or tea, something staining it. It started again.

_My Dad changed into one. Got himself killed. I'm glad. … Is that wrong, to be glad? _

_That's it, nothing is working out I'm walking down to the station, the air will clear my head. I'm leaving now it's 9:45 a.m. If you want you can come and talk maybe come with me. I'm taking the-_

Carson gave the directions of the way he was going. John raced out of the house, he couldn't let him do this! Carson would be locked up, and John deported then electrocuted!

Electrocution was touted as the clean, quick more humane way to kill someone. It wasn't in the least, the real reason it was initially used was to kill Vamps. It was thought that electricity was essentially the sun, concentrated and in the hand of man. That people could now control the bright power of the sky. It was found to be something very different but initially it was used to kill those who couldn't die. And when a Vamp was killed like that, well; they didn't go easy.

A regular human was cooked from the inside out, in about ten to twenty minutes. A Vamp though could take a good two hours at worst, and there'd been stories of the bodies being buried or burned before they were entirely dead.

John shuddered horrified, his pace picked up significantly despite the state he was in. By now he was past tired, weak, rattled to his core and starving, he fought on though.

He didn't have to go far, or run for long. Carson had left not five minutes before he got home .

By the third intersection there was a crowd, John craned his neck there'd been some kind of an accident. He shoved, then went to go around. He caught a high pitched whine-_Gasp!_

John made his way to the front of the double decker bus.

"Carson!"

He lay a mess … a total mess …

John heaved, he was grateful his stomach was, by now, more then empty.

"oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" the whispered chant was coming from somewhere, John didn't know.

"They won't make it."

"I didn't do it!-"

"He's dyin'!"

"They can't save him!"

"I didn't see him!"

"Don't say that! They can-"

"He just walked right out under my bus!"

The crowd was yelling a mess themselves.

John got shoved to the back, to his shock a man yelling that he was Carson's brother came up. It was then that John decided to fade into the crowd.

The ambulance came, along with the cops.

He watched as Carson was cared for then taken away. He went back home, beside himself.


	7. Chapter 6 - Stay Away from Me

**Stay Away from Me**

John got his things together packing as quickly as he could. He grabbed his cash, passport and made sure to take the few remaining items that he thought were necessary, he needed to get out before Carson's family got there.

Right before he left he managed to get his hands on where Carson was. He checked every area hospital.

By the time he finally found Carson it was evening. He was immediately directed to the hospitals morgue. Thankfully he persuaded the employees that he was a close friend and had heard of the incident. At first the workers were wary and initially not about to let him see the body since he wasn't family. John pressed, then used his as he called it, manipulative skills.

Soon he was being walked down to the body, he coursed once again and thankfully the attendant was young; easy. He quickly caved leaving John alone with the body.

He stood there readying himself, the sheet covering his once soul mate.

It was clear from the lay of it that there wasn't much left of the human form. It was so mangled when John had initially seen Carson that he was shocked he was able to still be talking.

It disturbed him, deeply.

Pulling the sheet back he gasped, took a step back and heaved.

He stood there for a minute doubled over clutching his knees. The bus had initially hit Carson full on, then run half way over his head. A leg and arm also looked like it was cracked, both limbs gingerly laid out at not entirely straight angles, lumpy.

John turned back and bit his eyes tight. He leaned down and prayed that he would be able to do this. Pausing beside Carson's neck John prayed he'd be able to figure out how to do this.

Jon had never changed anyone before in his life and he'd never been told nor taught how to. The best he had was shitty old movies or romance tales.

"Dear God let him live, please!" He sucked onto the man's neck. He popped off and leaned back ever so slightly, "And please don't let either of us get blamed for this-what I did! Or caught!" he latched on then. He wasn't sure what to do, still blood wasn't the same as live blood.

It was cold and tasted like bad raw gravy almost. He did his best sucking for all he was worth.

When nothing happened and the smell caught his nose he started to heave, the blood he'd just taken in vomiting back up, but through his fangs!

Disgusted he tried to yank back but his teeth caught. Suddenly his body seemed to kick in and he started to foam at the mouth, saliva coming out of him like no other! He sat there, his body seeming to pump every square inch of his own fluid into Carson's body.

It took an eternity but before long he was able to pull out.

He looked down at Carson, nothing.

Nothing happened.

He waited a while longer.

When there was no sign of life he bent back down and tried again, but instead of his body taking in it once again put out. He fought it but it was no use.

He ripped out his teeth nearly being left behind.

Shit that hurt!

He wiped his mouth.

As a last ditch effort he picked up Carson's arm, maybe changing locations would help, or work.

His body once again put out, but finally at the last right before he pulled back his fangs took in.

he gasped not ready for that.

Trying one last time he glanced over his shoulder and bit down again.

His fangs took in now, but minimally.

After a minute he could tell, it was no use.

He pulled out, and for the first time in his life, as far as he knew, he licked the wound he'd just caused.

He placed the arm down laying it gently next to the body.

He stood there, started to shake. He clutched the side of the table hanging on for dear life.

Next thing John knew he was silently weeping, like no other.

In one day he'd discovered that he was gay and in love. Then forced to admit he was a Vamp to his best human friend and protector worst of all. Then right after he admitted his love had lost his very soul mate.

John blinked he'd had no soul before this, it had been ripped out of him when he'd been kidnapped.

John had no idea how long he stood there, the whole of him vomiting up tears. He looked up at the clock; it had been a half an hour.

He looked down at the corpse one last time.

Suddenly Carson twitched, then jumped, before his eyes the body transformed becoming black, small. It took barely two minutes but when it was done a bat lay before John.

It's neck was at a bad angle and it's head was still half imploded, just as Carson's had been.

John's jaw dropped.

He gingerly picked up the form before him and cradled it. It was the softest most delicate thing he'd ever encountered. John petted it once and the skull shifted, a piece nearly coming off. John gulped and laid it back down.

He covered it with a sheet and turned his back.

He collected himself and walked away.


End file.
